Page 25 of Bound By Shadows
He doesn’t relent, pounding into me with a ferocity that borders on savage. Each thrust drives me farther into the mattress, my legs wrapped around his waist as he claims me with every stroke. His mouth finds my breasts, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh, sending joltsof electric arousal through me that only add to the fire burning inside me.
I come again, my body tightening around him as his thumb presses against my clit, the added stimulation pushing me over the edge a second time. My cries fill the room, and I feel him getting close, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate.
“Say it,” he growls, his voice rough with need as he hovers above me, his eyes boring into mine. “Tell me who you belong to.”
I can barely think, my body trembling beneath him, but the words come out in a rush, instinctive and true. “I’m yours. I’m yours, my lord.”
The moment I say it, his body tenses, and he comes with a roar, his release triggering another one from me. We ride the waves of our shared climax together, our bodies locked in a rhythm as old as time.
When it’s over, Ronan collapses beside me, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He reaches over, brushing the damp strands of hair away from my face, his touch unexpectedly tender. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he leans in close to my ear.
“And I am yours.”
The words pierce through me, more powerful than any command he’s ever given. In that moment, I know—my heart is no longer my own.
Chapter Eleven
Elara
The minute I wake up, I know my collar is gone. The familiar silk that had become both a burden and a strange comfort is no longer resting against my skin. Sitting up in bed, I touch my fingers to my neck, tracing the smooth expanse where the ribbon used to rest, confirming its absence.
“I cut it from you as you slept.” Ronan’s sleep-roughened voice pulls my attention to the other side of the room. The privacy screen has been moved aside, offering him an unobstructed view of me as he reclines in the steaming bath. His muscular arms are stretched across the rim of the copper tub like a king surveying his domain. Water glistens on his tanned skin, tracing rivulets over the chiseled planes of his chest and defined ridges of his abs. Dark hair clings to his forehead, and a lazy smile plays on his lips as his intense gaze meets mine.
A flush warms my cheeks as memories of the night before flood back—the way his hands explored everyinch of me, how his lips ignited a fire along my skin, the whispered words that made my heart race. I move to get up and fist my hands in the sheets, still pleasantly sore from how we moved together in perfect rhythm, over and over until we collapsed into each other’s arms just before dawn.
“You are free, Elara,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it, tinged with a hint of disappointment that surprises me. I should be ecstatic. This is what I want, isn’t it?
“Come,” he says, holding out a hand. “Join me.”
A week ago, I would have told him to get bent. A week ago, I would have told him to ask me nicely and maybe I’d think about it. But somehow a week has felt like a year, and now I’m a different woman entirely. Or perhaps I’m just more authentically myself. Maybethisversion of me only exists withhim.
It might be all those things or none of them, I have no idea. What I do know is that a warmth blooms in my chest, spreading outward, and there’s nothing I’d rather do in this moment than obey him.
Slipping out from under the sheets, I cross the room. Steam caresses my skin as I approach. He takes my hand, his fingers warm and strong as he guides me into the bath. The water is blissfully hot, enveloping me as I settle between his legs, my back resting against his solid chest. His arms wrap around me, pulling me so close that the steady rhythm of his heart echoes through me.
“Your instinct is to gain or remain in control at all times,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Tell me why.”
I tilt my head back, resting it on his shoulder. “Why do you insist on making demands of people instead of just asking them?” I counter, though the usual sharpness in my tone is softened. My mind is still blissfully hazy and sex-fogged.
His chuckle vibrates through his chest and against my back. “It has always been my way.” Under the water, Ronan intertwines his fingers with mine, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. “Demands are merely questions with a different inflection. Regardless, you have the right to refuse me, Elara. Always.”
“I know,” I reply honestly, turning my head to catch his gaze.
And I mean it. I would never kneel for him if I thought it wasn’t my choice, and I trust that he would never demand anything I wasn’t willing to give. From the very beginning, I felt safe with him. My broken pieces recognized his. I didn’t know the shape of his jagged edges or if they fit with mine, but knowing they existed was enough.
“Let me in, Elara,” he whispers against my temple.
I close my eyes, vulnerability wrapping around me like a cocoon. I should realize by now that it’s futile to deny this man anything.
Ronan is an expert puppet master, and I’m his marionette, tangled in strings of my own making. With diligence and patience, he works to set me free. Every meaningful glance, every weighted command, every unexpected kindness cuts through another of my knotted threads.
Nestled in his arms, surrounded by the warmth of the water and the steady cadence of his breathing, Iallow myself to let go. To share the weight I’ve carried for so long.
“My mother had me when she was very young,” I begin softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “My father wasn’t in the picture, but my grandmother said my mom was determined to raise me on her own. Unfortunately, she inherited Granny Bea’s free spirit and Grandpa’s insatiable wanderlust. She wanted to be a good mom, but being tied down by a kid was more than she could handle. When I was eleven, she dropped me off at Granny Bea’s to pick berries.”
I suck in a breath, the vivid memories of that day washing over me. The sun blazed high in a crystal-blue sky. A warm breeze whispered through the garden, carrying the scents of strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries, so fragrant that I told Granny Bea the air tasted like fruit punch. We wandered through rows of berry bushes, and I filled my wicker basket to the brim. On the drive back, the sun began to dip low, painting the horizon with streaks of pink and orange. I leaned my head out of the car window and let the wind tangle my hair while I hummed along with Stevie Nicks as she crooned out of the speakers.
